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Ан, luckless swain, o'er all unblest indeed!
On him enrag'd, the fiend, in angry mood,
To some dim hill that seems uprising near,
His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly force, And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless
For him, in vain, his anxious wife shall wait,
Or wander forth to meet him on his For him, in vain, at to-fall of the day,
His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate! Ah, ne'er shall he return! Alone, if night
Her travell'd limbs in broken slumbers steep, With dropping willows drest, his mournful sprite Shall visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep: Then he, perhaps, with moist and wat❜ry hand, Shall fondly seem to press her shudd'ring cheekt And with his blue swoln face before her stand, And, shiv'ring cold, these piteous accents speak:
*First written, cottage.
+ First written, Shall seem to press her cold and shudd'ring cheek.
Pursue*, dear wife, thy daily toils pursue
UNBOUNDED is thy range; with varied stile
Thy muse may, like those feath'ry tribes which spring
From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid isle, To that hoar pile which still its ruins shows :
In whose small vaults a pigmy-folk is found, Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrows, And culls them, wond'ring, from the hallow'd ground!
Or thither where beneath the show'ry west
The mighty kings of three fair realms are laid; Once foes, perhaps, together now they rest.
No slaves revere them, and no wars invade: Yet frequent now, at midnight's solemn hour, The rifted mounds their yawning cells unfold, And forth the monarchs stalk with sov'reign pow'r In pageant robes, and wreath'd with sheeny gold, And on their twilight tombs aerial council hold.
BUT O! o'er all, forget not KILDA's race,
On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting tides,
Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides.
Go, just, as they, their blameless manners trace!
*First written, Proceed.
Then to my ear transmit some gentle song
And all their prospect but the wintry main.
Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare : Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there!
NOR need'st thou blush, that such false themes engage
The shadowy kings of BANQUO's fated line
To such adapt thy lyre and suit thy powerful verse.
IN scenes like these, which, daring to depart
And call forth fresh delight to fancy's view,
Believ'd the magic wonders which he sung!
Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows: Melting it flows, pure, num'rous, strong and clear, And fills th' impassion'd heart, and wins th' harmonious ear.t
ALL hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail, friths and lakes which, far away,
Are by smooth ANNAN fill'd, or past'ral TAY,
* These four lines were originally written thus :—
+ These lines were originally written thus :
Hence, sure to charm, his early numbers flow,
Though faithful, sweet; though strong, of simple kind.
While his warm lays an easy passage find,
Pour'd through each inmost nerve, and lull th' harmonious ear.
Or crop from Tiviots dale each
And mourn on Yarrow's banks
Meantime, ye Pow'rs, that on the plains which bore The cordial youth, on LOTHIAN's plains attend, Where'er he dwell, on hill, or lowly muir,
To him I lose, your kind protection lend,
And, touch'd with love like mine, preserve my absent friend.